


Curse me not with brothers

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers are hazardous to one's love life, Gawdawful silliness, Humor, Innuendo, Vile Insinuations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1965615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The true doom of Maglor: Six irrepressible brothers. In which I sometimes forget that the sons of Fëanor aren't the Weasleys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curse me not with brothers

 Intent on the book he was reading at the kitchen table, Maitimo took an absent sip of tea from the mug at his elbow. He swallowed and made a face. 

“Makalaurë, how long did you brew this? It’s horribly bitter.” 

“What?” Makalaurë half turned from the countertop where he was fussing with his own cup of tea, knocking a spoon to the floor in the process. “Oh. Sorry. I set the tea to brew and then – I must have forgotten it and left it to sit overlong… I hoped it wouldn’t be too noticeable. Shall I pour it out?” 

“No, that’s fine,” Maitimo said, attention flickering back to his book. “But could you bring me the honey?” 

As Makalaurë passed the honey pot, Maitimo looked up to thank him. His gaze fell to his brother’s throat, and his eyes widened in shock. “Sweet Eru in Eä, what happened to you?” 

“What?” Makalaurë dropped the honey and drew back, looking panicked. 

Maitimo was gazing at him, horrified. In the gap between his collar and his ear, Makalaurë’s neck was disfigured by a massive, spreading bruise. Maitimo reached for him solicitously. “Merciful Manwë, Kano, were you beaten? Did someone attack you?” 

Makalaurë’s hands flew to his throat and then he batted Maitimo away as his ears turned red. “No, it’s not, I – _Stop_ , Nelyo, it’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing!” exclaimed Maitimo. “You look like you’ve been struck, or throttled, or – or… ” His eyes widened in sudden realization, and Makalaurë went even redder. “No…” said Maitimo slowly. 

“Nelyo…” 

“No…  Really? _Really?_ That is the worst I have ever – ” 

“Nelyo, _please_ …” 

“I can’t even – How would you – ” 

“Maitimo!” Makalaurë cried. “ _Please_ shut up.” 

But a slow grin was spreading across Maitimo’s face. “You rogue. That’s the worst love bite I’ve ever seen!” 

“ _Keep your voice down_ ,” hissed Makalaurë, but at that moment, the door flew open and Tyelkormo bounded in, followed by Carnistir. 

“I heard something about a _love bite_ ,” Tyelkormo said loudly. “Could I possibly have heard that correctly, Nelyo? What, did Findekáno get a little too – _Wait._ ” He stopped short, eyes alighting on Makalaurë, who was bright red now and looking like he wanted to sink through the floor. “ _No_.” 

“Yes,” said Carnistir, going over to Makalaurë and examining his neck with detached interest. “Valar, it looks like you’ve been half devoured.” 

Tyelkormo looked like all his dreams were coming true. “Why, Makalaurë, you sly dog!” He clapped Makalaurë on the shoulder as Makalaurë flinched away, trying to drag his collar up. “Didn’t think you had it in you!” 

"Didn't think he had it in anyone else, either," said Carnistir. 

"Our own Makalaurë, finally losing his flower," said Tyelkormo.

"Don't," said Makalaurë, in a pained voice. "That's such - That's a  _terrible_ metaphor..."

"You should write a song about it."

" 'The ballad of the interminable virginity.' "

" 'Ode to unplucked flowers.' "

" ' The lay of Kanafinwë.' "

"Hah!"

“Will you please,” Makalaurë began, in agonized tones, and then let out a heartfelt groan as Curufinwë wandered into the kitchen, looking displeased at all the noise. 

“What is all the racket?” he asked, sourly. “I’m trying to – ” 

“Look,” said Tyelkormo, dragging him by the elbow to Makalaurë’s side. Makalaurë tried to dodge through the door to the pantry, but Carnistir blocked his way, grinning. 

“Quite the specimen,” said Curufinwë, studying Makalaurë’s neck appraisingly. 

“To say the least,” said Tyelkormo, gleefully. “Who was the ravenous creature who gave it to you, Kano?”

“A cannibal, from the looks of it,” said Carnistir. 

“Biters are the best kind,” said Tyelkormo, with the air of a connoisseur. “Simply _wild_ in bed.” 

“Who was she?” asked Carnistir. “Someone we know? One of those visiting Teleri? Surely not a Vanyarin maid. They’re docile creatures.” 

“Not if they’ve had a bit to drink,” said Tyelkormo. “I remember, this one time – ” 

“What are we talking about?” 

The twins burst through the door, still in their riding clothes. 

“Why’s everyone in the kitchen?” 

“Why’s everyone looking at Makalaurë?” 

“What’s that?”

They crowded close, and Makalaurë, his exit blocked on all sides, sank into a chair by the table, head buried in his hands. 

Pityafinwë tugged Makalaurë’s curls to the side to better examine the object of his brothers’ interest. 

“Ooh. Gross.” 

“Remember when we spent a month with the fisherfolk, Pityo?” asked Telufinwë, leaning on his elbows on the table. “And we landed that horrible, eight legged thing that latched onto Olu’s leg?”

“An octopus,” said Maitimo, who’d propped himself against the counter and was watching the proceedings with fascination. 

“Yes. One of those. The mark it gave him looked just like that.” 

“It did!” said Pityo, his eyes brightening. He hooked his chin over Makalaurë’s shoulder. “Have you been in contact with an octopus recently, Kano?” 

“Yes, Kano,” interjected Tyelkormo, a wicked glint in his eyes. “And just what have you been doing with an octopus? Have you been fu – ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tyelko,” said Curufinwë. “This is clearly an elf-made mark. The real question is, what maiden did _Makalaurë_ convince to tumble him? And was she ill at the time? Had she suffered a recent head injury?” 

“Perhaps she was drunk,” put in Carnistir. 

“Perhaps it was not a maid at all,” suggested Tyelko, leering. 

“Or an octopus,” Telvo said again. Pityo made a horrible sucking noise and both twins collapsed into a fit of giggles. 

Makalaurë raised a despairing head and fixed his eyes on his older brother, pleadingly. “Maitimo. Will you _please_ …” 

“All right, enough already,” said Maitimo pushing himself from the counter and raising his hands quellingly. Carnistir and Curufinwë looked up at him warily, but Tyelkormo’s eyes were twinkling. The twins were still laughing helplessly, slumped against Makalaurë’s chair. 

“This is hardly the time to be making light of our brother,” said Maitimo, sternly, and as Curufinwë rolled his eyes, he held up a silencing hand. Makalaurë looked at him gratefully. 

 “Really,” Maitimo went on, “we should be concerned.” 

“What,” began Makalaurë, but Maitimo interrupted him. 

“Our brother has clearly lost his virtue to some ravening beast of the fens.” Maitimo brought his hand down on the table forcefully. “We should be speaking not of jokes but of _vengeance_.” 

“Hear hear,” said Tyelkormo loudly, as the twins cheered, and Makalaurë cast a look of utter betrayal at Maitimo. 

“We can ready the horses for the hunt at once,” said Carnistir, eyes glittering. “No wolf thus defiles _my_ brother.” 

“Wolf? It was clearly a vicious weasel of some kind,” said Curufinwë. 

“Octopus,” shouted Telvo, from the floor. 

“A drunken Vanyarin lady’s maid,” Tyelkormo said. “With teeth like razors.” 

“ _I hate you all_ ,” said Makalaurë, passionately, and, pulling free of his brothers’ clutches, fled the room. 

He nearly ran straight into Findekáno, who was just ducking through the door. 

“Whoa.” Findekáno pressed himself to the doorframe as Makalaurë dashed past him. He peered after him, startled. “Are you all right, Makalaurë? And what is on your neck? Have you been in some sort of terrible fight?” A ferocious oath followed, and Findekáno frowned, taken aback. “Well. That was uncalled for. What are you lot all laughing at?”

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I honestly think the reason Maglor lived on so long after all his brothers was because he was so effing relieved to finally have some goddamned peace and quiet.  
> 1\. In other news, sorry about this. In my defense, I've been drinking rather a lot.  
> 2\. UPDATE: Now available translated into Vietnamese, courtesy of the very talented MeggiMed! [Check it out](http://meggimed.wordpress.com/2014/10/06/silmarillion-curse-me-not-with-brothers/).


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